


screamin green

by MaliciousVegetarian



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Asexual Character, Crayons, Domestic Fluff, F/F, Friendly's, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Ice Cream, Kid Fic, Politics, Rebellion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-14
Updated: 2021-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-22 12:34:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30038760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaliciousVegetarian/pseuds/MaliciousVegetarian
Summary: Attempting to convince Yennefer and Triss to join them against Calanthe, Fringilla sets up a meeting between them and Pavetta.  But letting her old school friends see her around the budding rebel leader may have been a mistake . . .Or, a modern-with-magic au where Fringilla and Pavetta have teamed up and Ciri is an adorable menace.
Relationships: Pavetta/Fringilla Vigo, Triss Merigold/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Comments: 4
Kudos: 5
Collections: The Witcher Quick Fic #08





	screamin green

**Author's Note:**

> Whooo here we go! All the crayon names and ice cream names are real, in case you were wondering.

Sometimes, Fringilla wonders how exactly she got here. After all, she’s a graduate of Aretuza, and while her placement in Nilfgaard had sucked in pretty much every other way, the salary had been six figures. And if she’d decided to leave, she could have used her degree to open a little shop somewhere, maybe Novigrad, and made a comfortable living selling small magics to the city’s people. The only wrinkle is her long standing hatred of Novigrad. Or she could have found a position at an arcane library, or - 

Next to her, the second in line to the throne of Cintra blows loud bubbles into her cookies and creme milkshake. Fringilla has to move her hand fast before it gets spattered with ice cream and oreo bits. “Ciri,” Pavetta scolds tiredly. “Mind your manners.”

Triss and Yennefer both look like they’re not quite sure how they feel about the concept of six year olds. Fringilla, who loves Ciri with the entirety of her being, understands the sentiment. The five of them are shoved close together in a bright red booth whose vinyl is cracking along the back. Fringilla and Pavetta spent a lot of time discussing the strategic pros and cons of trying to recruit people at a Friendly’s, but Fringilla is currently having a hard time remembering the pros.

“So,” Yennefer says slowly, “what exactly are you here to discuss with us?” There’s a fair amount of distaste in her voice. Fringilla adjusts herself, pulling her shoes up from where they've stuck tot he floor a little, and decides she understands that sentiment as well.

Pavetta reaches under the table to retrieve one of Ciri’s crayons that’s rolled away. As a first grader with discerning taste, Ciri distains restaurant crayons and insists on bringing her box of 152 Crayolas and the built-in sharpener. Fringilla has to admit a little bit of crayon envy - the most she got as a kid was the 96 count box. Triss reaches over and grabs _Sunglow_ , beginning to doodle a flower on the back of her placemat.

“We have a proposition for you,” Fringilla begins, glancing at the back of Pavetta’s spring green cardigan and realizing she’ll be no help for the moment. “We want you to help us take down Calanthe.”

“And go against the Brotherhood?” Yennefer asks, raising an elegant black eyebrow. Fringilla wonders how much time she puts into them on a daily basis.

“Not necessarily,” Pavetta says, placing _Screamin Green_ back on the table. “Cintra has never truly been friendly with the Brotherhood, not since my mother came into power.”

Ciri, apparently bored by politics, reaches across the table, coming perilously close to knocking over her milkshake, and hands Yennefer _Purple Heart_. “You use this one.” Yennefer takes the crayon awkwardly. “Draw an octagon,” Ciri instructs. “That means eight sides. It’s my best shape.”

As Yennefer complies, she continues the conversation. “That may be, but the Brotherhood will still come to Cintra’s defense against any threat. What exactly do you have on your side?” She begins to shade her octagon.

“We have the fact we’re in the right,” Fringilla says, reaching into the crayon box and pulling out _Outer Space_. “And we have a small but growing army of elves, and several powerful mages. Which could, if you choose, include you.”

“What are you drawing?” Ciri asks, twisting around to look at Fringilla’s placemat. 

“A cat.”

“That’s a good cat color. Give it blue stripes.”

Fringilla nods absentmindedly.

“Public opinion currently hangs in my mother’s favor,” Pavetta says, carelessly making circles with _Screamin Green_. “But to be frank, I’ve always been a popular public figure, and that’s only increased since my supposed untimely death.”

“That’s true,” Triss says thoughtfully. “But opinion is a fickle thing, and your mother is a master of narrative. Look how well she’s planted anti-elf sentiment in the populace.”

“My mother has publicists, sure. But I’ve got Fringilla.”

Fringilla, currently shading stripes with _Wild Blue Yonder_ , is suddenly very glad her deep brown skin largely hides her blush. She is so stupidly fond of this would be rebel leader, she thinks, bearing down too hard with the crayon so a little bit breaks off the tip. Ciri wordlessly passes her the sharpener.

“That certainly is a catch,” Triss says, smiling, and Fringilla is reminded of all the times she hyped their group of friends up before a test at Aretuza. She’s drawing in the seeds of her sunflower with _Antique Brass_.

“Fringilla’s great, sure,” Yennefer drawls, leaning forward and holding _Purple Heart_ in one hand like a cigarette. “But she’s just one mage. What - who - else do you have on your side?”

“As said, we have an assortment of elven refugees, as well as elves not from Cintra who have dedicated themselves to ending the slaughter.” Before she can continue, the smiling waitress returns with their food. There’s a moment of chaos as they put the crayons away, followed by a moment of silence as they bite into their burgers.

“And we have - _other_ participants,” Fringilla continues, wiping ketchup off her mouth. “But their identity is well protected, and I’m afraid you’ll have to join us to access that information.”

“Convenient,” Yennefer says, mostly to herself. She dips a fry in ranch dressing, looking contemplative. Triss makes a face.

“Yenna, you’re gross.”

Yennefer grins and leans over to kiss her. “You taste like ranch,” Triss mutters, smiling down at her burger.

It’s odd to Fringilla to see them so happy, especially Yennefer. Not that she hadn’t been happy at Aretuza, exactly, but there had been a single-minded determination inhabiting her every movement. Fringilla had recognized it immediately, because she had been the same. It's a good kind of odd, she thinks.

Pavetta smiles at them, stealing one of Fringilla’s onion rings without looking, and the happiness at her friends’ happiness quickly turns to jealousy. Yennefer and Triss have each other, and Fringilla doesn’t even have a pet. The closest she gets is Vilgefortz’s stupid rooftop bees.

Ciri elbows her in the stomach as she takes a large bite of her burger, and Fringilla is reminded that that isn’t strictly true. She has Ciri, and she has Pavetta, even if it’s not in the way she wants.

“How many elves?” Triss asks, drawing careful leaves on her stem with _Fern_. She always was the artistic one. 

“About twelve hundred,” Pavetta replies. “If you want to continue these talks, we’ll set up a meeting with Filavandrel and Toruviel. They know their force best. But this was never going to be a strictly military conquest.”

“What about Nilfgaard,” Triss asks. 

“What do you mean?”

“If I’m not wrong, Ciri’s the only living heir. Have you thought about an alliance with them?”

“‘Vetta won’t consider it,” Fringilla jumps in. “For personal reasons. I’m sure you understand.”

“Ah,” Triss says with a small nod.

“So what exactly is the plan?” Yennefer asks.

“We’re still developing it,” Fringilla says as smoothly as she can manage. “But that’s part of the beauty of it - you two can get in on the ground floor. You can have significant roles shaping our direction.”

Yennefer and Triss glance at each other. “I don’t think I’m ready to commit,” Yennefer says, tapping her short fingernails on the table. “But I’d certainly be interested in meeting with the elves.”

“Mom?” Ciri stage whispers, pulling on Pavetta’s sleeve. “I need to pee.”

“It’s more polite to say, ‘I have to go to the bathroom,’” Pavetta reminds her, standing up. “I’ll take her.”

As soon as they’re out of earshot, Triss puts an elbow on the table and leans across. “So what’s the situation with Pavetta?”

Fringilla blinks at her. “Well, five years ago, Pavetta and -”

“She means what’s the situation with the two of you,” Yennefer butts in. “Are you an item?”

“No!” Gods, now this really feels like Aretuza.

“But you want to be.” It isn’t a question, and Fringilla struggles to remember why she thought her old school mates would be good allies.

She sighs, looking down at her mostly empty coke glass, and stirring the ice around with her straw. She considers dumping it all in her mouth. Chewing it all would certainly buy her a few minutes, maybe even enough for Pavetta and Ciri to return.

“You should go for it, if you like her,” Triss says gently, and suddenly Fringilla’s furious.

“I don’t need your pity,” she hisses. “This isn’t Aretuza, and I have friends who actually like me now, and don’t just tolerate me. So -”

“That’s not fair,” Yennefer says calmly. “That’s not fair to me and it’s certainly not fair to Triss. Your problem is that you can never accept good things happening to you. That’s how it’s always been.”

“Rich, coming from you.” Fringilla snaps. “Ms. never met a major life event she didn’t run away from.”

“Stop,” Triss says, holding her hands up in a time-out T in a decent impression of Ciri's soccer coach. “Both of you. Fringilla, I’m sorry. You're right, that was a little condescending. Now both of you.”

“Sorry,” Yennefer says, picking at the vinyl.

“Sorry,” Fringilla sighs.

“Better,” Triss declares. “Now, Fringilla, Yennefer wasn’t entirely wrong. You do tend to think there’s some universal rug that’s always about to be pulled out from under you.”

 _Because there always has been,_ , Fringilla thinks, bending the end of her straw back and forth, forming a white crease in the pale blue plastic.

“And I’m not saying that isn’t based on life experience, but - Are you happy right now? Overall?”

And the thing is, Fringilla is. She loves staying in her little apartment with Pavetta and Ciri, even if it's a bit cramped. She loves that her best friends live down the hall. She loves the righteous rush of working for a cause she believes in, day in and day out. She loves walking to the nearby park in the evenings. She loves picking Ciri up from school, and watching her clumsily tie her shoes every morning, and pinning her latest art projects to the fridge. She loves Ciri. She loves Pavetta. She even loves the damn bees.

“I am,” she says.

“So what I’m trying to say is, this is solid. You’re in a good place, Gilly. And if you try and things don’t go how you want, I don’t think it’ll bring everything crashing down. I think it’ll be awkward for a few days and then you’ll both get over it.”

“You should listen to her,” Yennefer says. “She’s usually right.”

At that moment, the missing party members return from the direction of the bathroom. Ciri is chattering excitedly about ice cream, and the smiling waitress comes over yet again to clear their plates and take their dessert orders. Ciri gets a mint chocolate chip sundae. Triss gets a scoop of Rockin’ Poppin’ Cotton Candy, and Yennefer teases her relentlessly over the name. She and Pavetta each get a scoop of vanilla, and Fringilla gets Vienna Mocha Chunk.

“So, Pavetta,” Yennefer says in between bites. “Now that we’re done with shop talk for the night, how did you and Fringilla meet?”

Pavetta smiles, as if to herself. “It was the dumbest thing. I had a flat tire, and we had pulled over at this sketchy little gas station to change it. I popped the hatch and pulled out the spare, but when I got the jack out it was rusted shut.”

“Not surprising,” Fringilla says with a smirk. “She got it on Facebook Marketplace.”

“Big whoop,” Pavetta says with a fond eyeroll. “Anyways, it was hot, and I had a kid in the car getting antsier by the second, and I may have cursed the thing out. A little. And my voice has a tendency to uh -”

“Cause issues,” Fringilla says diplomatically.

“Sure. I uprooted a bunch of grass, dented the side of the car, and split the stupid jack in half, right down the middle.”

“I was at the pumps,” Fringilla says. “And I felt this amazing wave of chaos - you two should experience it sometime, it’s not at all like the way we harness it. And of course I had to go see what it was -”

“And then she offered to hold the car up with magic while I changed the spare.” Pavetta says, grinning.

“You had a kid in the car,” Fringilla shrugs, and Pavetta’s smile goes even wider. 

“And of course Ciri thought it was the coolest thing she’d ever seen.”

“And we started talking, and one thing led to another. And now we’re here.”

“Beautiful,” Yennefer says, in that annoying voice that Fringilla can never parse. She could be making total fun of her or it could be 100% sincere. The world will never know, and Fringilla certainly won’t.

Ciri is starting to fall asleep against Fringilla, and she awkwardly loops an arm around the little girl. “We should think about heading out.”

“I’ve got the bill,” Yennefer says, and before Fringilla can stop herself they’ve devolved into squabbling. While they’re doing so, Triss and Pavetta do the math to split it.

Ciri wakes up enough to get a lollipop at the till, because what she needs tonight is _more_ sugar. They walk out to Triss’s Prius and Fringilla’s trusty Civic, with Ciri’s carseat strapped into the back. Through the window, she can see Ciri’s little purple backpack, with a glittery horse on it, halfway unzipped with papers awkwardly shoved in. The damn thing sheds glitter on everything it touches, but Pavetta and Fringilla have made an oath to never complain.

The night is cool and black, and every corner of the air seems to vibrate. Fringilla breathes in and looks up at the sky, and wonders at the strange magic of late night restaurant parking lots in the summer. Triss is watching her, she realizes.

“Think about what I said, Gilly.” Then she steps into her car, shuts the door, and silently pulls out of the parking lot.

The drive home is quiet. Ciri’s audiobook, Misty of Chincoteague, starts playing when Fringilla turns the key, and neither of them bother to turn it off. Ciri drifts off a few minutes in, and Pavetta and Fringilla don’t talk as they listen to the efforts of Tom and the wild horse Phantom to win the big race.

When they get back to the apartment building, Pavetta quietly wakes Ciri. They head past the doorman, John, who nods at the two of them from over the top of his flyfishing magazine. The elevator hums open, and Ciri rouses from her daze to loudly insist on pushing the buttons. As they go up, Fringilla looks at the three of them in the floor length mirror. They look like a family.

In the dark apartment, Fringilla hangs the backpack from its hook, and watches as Pavetta wrestles Ciri into her PJs and insists she brush her teeth. They tuck her up in her race car bed in the corner of the bedroom with her yellow blankie and her stuffed horse Kelpie. They each give her a kiss, and walk to the bedroom, making sure to turn on her shell-shaped nightlight.

“She was good tonight,” Pavetta murmurs, pointlessly adjusting the pack of crayons on the table.

“She was,” Fringilla agrees. “I thought Yenna was going to short circuit when Ciri handed her that crayon.”

Pavetta cracks a smile. “I thought it went well. But you know them better than I do.”

“It did. I think as long as the meeting with Filavandrel goes moderately well, we’ll have their support.”

“They seem like very good people to have on your side,” Pavetta muses, then glances over at Fringilla. “Not that I didn’t trust your judgement, just -”

“I know.”

The low light in the main room hugs the curves and valleys of Pavetta’s face. Somehow, the harsh light makes her look softer. Fringilla wants to reach out and run a thumb over the bow of her lip. a voice that sounds remarkably like Triss murmurs in her head.

Before she can move, Pavetta says, “I was thinking. If you want to sleep in the bed with me tonight, instead of on the couch, I don’t think Ciri would mind.”

Fringilla feels like she’s been struck by lightning, turned to stone. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“And you - you wouldn’t mind?”

Pavetta shakes her head. “I’d mind it less than you sleeping on that awful couch.”

As she turns to leave, Fringilla reaches out and gently takes her wrist, barely believing she’s really doing it. “Pavetta, is that really the reason you’re asking me?” The words sound far away.

Pavetta’s pupils are blown wide, surrounded by a fine circle of iris, and for some reason Fringilla thinks of the crayon - _Screamin Green_. Her wrist is warm under Fringilla’s fingers, and she can feel her pulse. 

“No,” Pavetta whispers. “I’ve been - I’ve been wanting to ask you for a long time. But I never had the courage to -”

“Can I kiss you?”

Pavetta’s jaw drops open a little, and she nods dumbly. “Just be quiet. I don’t want to wake Ciri.”

“You think she’ll be upset?” 

“No, but I think I don’t want to explain romance to a six year old at ten in the evening.”

“You really don’t think she’ll mind?” 

Pavetta lets out an exasperated breath. “Fringilla, she thinks you’re wonderful. You’re basically already a parental figure. Now shut up about my kid and kiss me.”

Fringilla does as instructed.

Other people always talk about kissing as something electric, fireworks, some cliche nonsense along those lines. For Fringilla, it’s always just been a mashing together of lips, slightly unpleasant in it’s wetness but nice in it’s warmness.

Kissing Pavetta doesn't giver her fireworks, or shock her in some way. But it is comfortable in a way she’s never felt before, like pulling a fuzzy blanket over your head right after turning the lights out. And Pavetta already knows about the whole ace thing, so there won’t be any awkward explanations down the line.

They kiss for a while more, and then they snuggle on the couch, Pavetta’s top half in Fringilla’s lap, the two of them looking at each other like they can’t take their eyes away.


End file.
